CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Buckkeep

    TRADEFORD CASTLE ON the Vin River was one of the traditional residences of the ruling family of Farrow. This was the place where Queen Desire had spent her childhood, and here she returned with her son Regal during the summers of his childhood. The town of Tradeford is a lively place, a center for commerce in the heart of orchard-and-grain country. The Vin River is a sleepily navigable water, making travel easy and pleasant. Queen Desire had always insisted it was superior to Buckkeep in every regard and would have served much better as a seat for the royal family.

    The trip back to Buckkeep was eventful only in small ways. Kettricken was worn and tired by the time we were to return. Although she tried not to show it, it was evident in the circles under her eyes and the set of her mouth. Duke Kelvar furnished her with a litter for the trip home, but a brief ride in it showed her that its swaying only made her more nauseated. She returned it with thanks and rode home astride her mare.

    Our second night on the road home, Foxglove came to our fire and told Burrich she thought she had seen a wolf, several times that day. Burrich shrugged indifferently and assured her it was probably just curious, and was no threat to us. After she left, Burrich turned to me and said, "That's going to happen once too often."

    "What?"

    "A wolf, seen in your vicinity. Fitz, have a care. There were rumors, back when you killed those Forged ones. There were tracks all about, and the marks on those men were never made by any blade. Someone told me they saw a wolf prowling Neatbay the night of the battle. I even heard a wild tale about a wolf who changed into a man when the battle was over. There were tracks in the mud outside the Queen's very tent from that night; as well for you that everyone was so tired and in so much of a hurry to dispose of the dead. There were a few there that did not die at a man's hand."

    A few? Fa!

    Burrich's face contorted in anger. "That will cease. Now."

    You are strong, Heart of the Pack, but

    The thought was broken and I heard a sudden yelp of surprise from off in the brush. Several of the horses startled and looked in that direction. I myself was staring at Burrich. He had repelled at Nighteyes, fiercely and from a distance.

    Luckily for you, from a distance; for the strength of that ... I began to warn Nighteyes.

    Burrich's gaze swung to me. "I said, that will cease! Now!" He looked aside from me in disgust. "I'd rather you rode with your hand in your pants than that you did that constantly in my presence. It offends me."

    I could think of nothing to say. Years of living together had taught me that he would not be argued out of his feelings about the Wit. He knew I was bonded to Nighteyes. That he would still tolerate my presence was as far as he could unbend. I need not constantly remind him that the wolf and I shared minds. I bowed my head in assent. That night, for the first time in a long time, my dreams were my own.

    I dreamed of Molly. She wore red skirts again, and crouched on the beach, cutting sheel from the stones with her belt knife and eating them rave. She looked up at me and smiled. I came closer. She leaped up and ran barefoot down the beach in front of me. I chased her, but she was as fleet as she had ever been. Her hair blew back off her shoulders, and she only laughed when I called out to her to wait, wait. I awoke feeling strangely glad that she had outrun me, and with the dream scent of lavender still in my mind.

    We expected to be well greeted at Buckkeep. The ships, given the kinder weather, should have made land before us, to give tidings of our success. So we were not surprised to see a contingent of Regal's guard coming forth to meet us. What did seem strange was that after they sighted us, they continued to walk their horses. Not a man yelled, or waved a greeting. Instead they came toward us silent and sober as ghosts. I think Burrich and I saw at the same time the baton the lead man carried, the small polished stick that betokened serious tidings.

    He turned to me as we watched them approach. Dread was written large on his face. "King Shrewd has died?" he suggested softly.

    I felt no surprise, only a gaping loss in me. A frightened boy inside me gasped that now no one and nothing could stand between me and Regal. In another part, I wondered what it would have been like to call him "Grandfather" instead of "my king." But those selfish parts were small compared with what it meant to this King's Man. Shrewd had shaped me, made me what I was, for good or ill. He had picked up my life one day, a boy playing under a table in the Great Hall, and set his stamp upon it. His decision that I must read and write, must be able to wield a sword or disperse a poison. It seemed to me that with his passing, I must take responsibility for my own acts now. It was a strangely frightening thought.

    All had become aware of the lead man's burden. We halted on the road. Like a curtain parting, Kettricken's guard opened to allow him to approach her. A terrible silence held as he handed her the baton, and then the small scroll. The red sealing wax flaked away from her nail. I watched it fall to the muddy road. Slowly she opened the scroll and read it. Something went out of her in that reading. Her hand fell to her side. She let the scroll follow the wax to the mud, a thing done with, a thing she never wished to peruse again. She did not faint, nor cry out. Her eyes looked afar, and she set her hand gently atop her belly. And in that motion, I knew it was not Shrewd who was dead, but Verity.

    I reached for him. Somewhere, surely somewhere, coiled small inside me, a spark of a link, the tiniest thread of a connection ... no. I did not even know when it had vanished. I recalled that whenever I fought, I was likely to break my link with him. It did not help. I recalled now what had seemed just an oddity on the night of the battle. I had thought I had heard Verity's voice, crying out, issuing orders that made no sense. I could not recall one individual word of what he might have shouted. But now it seemed to me that they had been battle orders, orders to scatter, to seek cover perhaps, or ... but I could not recall anything with certainty. I looked over at Burrich, to find the question in his eyes. I had to shrug. "I don't know," I said quietly. His brow furrowed as he considered this.

    Queen-in-Waiting Kettricken sat very still on her horse. No one moved to touch her, no one spoke a word. I glanced at Burrich, met his eyes. I saw fatalistic resignation there. This was the second time he had seen a King-in-Waiting fall before ascending the throne. After a long silence, Kettricken turned in her saddle. She surveyed her guard, and the mounted soldiers who followed her. "Prince Regal has had tidings that King-in-Waiting Verity is dead." She did not raise her voice, but her clear words carried. Merriment faded, and the triumph went out of many an eye. She gave it a few moments to settle in. Then she nudged her horse to a walk, and we followed her back to Buckkeep.

    We approached the gate unchallenged. The soldiers on watch looked up at us as we passed. One made a sketchy salute to the Queen. She did not notice it. Burrich's scowl deepened, but he said nothing.

    Within the castle courtyard, it seemed an ordinary day. Stable help came to take the horses while other servants and folk moved about on the ordinary business of the Keep. Somehow the very familiarity of it rattled against my nerves like stones. Verity was dead. It did not seem right that life should go on in such a workaday fashion.

    Burrich had helped Kettricken to dismount into a cluster of her ladies. A part of me noted the look on Foxglove's face as Kettricken was hustled away by court ladies who were exclaiming over how worn she looked, was she well, amid exclamations of sympathy, regret, and sorrow. A twinge of jealousy passed over the face of the captain of the Queen's guard. Foxglove was but a soldier, sworn to protect her queen. She could not, at this time, follow her into the Keep, no matter how much she cared about her queen. Kettricken was in the care of her court ladies now. But I knew Burrich would not stand guard alone before Kettricken's door tonight.

    The solicitous murmuring of her ladies on Kettricken's behalf was enough to let me know that the rumor of her pregnancy had been spread. I wonder if it had yet been shared with Regal. I was well aware that some gossip circulated almost entirely through the women before becoming common knowledge. I suddenly wanted very badly to know if Regal knew that Kettricken carried the heir to the throne. I handed Sooty's reins to Hands, thanked him, and promised to tell him all later. But as I headed for the Keep Burrich's hand fell on my shoulder.

    "A word with you. Now."

    Sometimes he treated me almost as if I were a Prince, sometimes as less than a stable boy. These words now were no request. Hands gave me Sooty's reins back with a wry smile and vanished to see to other animals. I followed Burrich as he led Ruddy into the stables. He had no problem finding an empty stall for Ruddy near Sooty's regular stall. There were only too many stalls available. We both began matter-of-factly to work on the horses. The old familiarity of that routine, seeing to a horse while Burrich worked nearby, was comforting. Our end of the stable was relatively quiet, but he waited until no one was about before asking, "Is it true?"

    "I don't know, exactly. My link with him is gone. It had been faint before we went to Neatbay, and I always have a problem maintaining my link to Verity when I get into a fight. He says I put my guard up so strongly against those around me that I wall him out."

    "I don't understand any of that, but I knew of that problem. Are you sure that is when you lost him?"

    So I told him, about a vague sense of Verity during the battle, and the possibility that he had been under attack at the same time. Burrich nodded impatiently.

    "But can't you Skill out to him, now that things are calm? Renew the link?"

    I took an instant, pushed down my own seething frustration. "No. I can't. I don't have the Skill that way."

    Burrich frowned. "Look. We know that messages have gone awry lately. How do we know that this one hasn't been invented?"

    "We don't, I suppose. Though it is hard to believe that even Regal would be so bold as to say Verity was dead if he was not."

    "There is nothing I believe him incapable of," Burrich said quietly.

    I straightened up from cleaning the mud out of Sooty's hooves. Burrich was leaning on the door of Ruddy's stall, staring off into distance. The white streak in his hair was a vivid reminder of just how ruthless Regal could be. He had ordered Burrich killed as casually as one might swat an annoying fly. It had never seemed to give Regal a moment's concern that he had not stayed dead. He had no fear of retribution from a stablemaster or a bastard.

    "So. What would he say when Verity came back?" I asked quietly.

    "Once he was king, he could see that Verity never came back. The man who sits on the throne of the Six Duchies can do away with people who are inconvenient." Burrich did not look directly at me as he said this, and I tried to let the barb go by me. It was true. Once Regal was in power, I had no doubt there would be assassins ready to do his bidding. Perhaps there already were some. That thought put a queer chill up me.

    "If we want definite word that Verity is still alive, our only choice is to send someone to find him, and to come back with tidings of him." I considered Burrich.

    "Assuming the messenger managed to survive, it would still take too long. Once Regal is in power, the word of a messenger is nothing to him. The bearer of such tidings would not dare speak them aloud. We need proof that Verity is alive, proof that King Shrewd will accept, and we need it before Regal comes into power. That one would not be king-in-waiting long."

    "King Shrewd and Kettricken's child still stand between him and the throne," I protested.

    "That location has proven unhealthy for full-grown, strong men. I doubt an ailing old man or an unborn child will find it any luckier a place to be." Burrich shook his head and set that thought aside. "So. You cannot Skill to him. Who can?"

    "Any of the coterie."

    "Pah. I have faith in none of them."

    "King Shrewd might be able to," I suggested hesitantly. "If-he took strength from me."

    "Even if your link with Verity is broken?" Burrich asked intently.

    I shrugged and shook my head. "I don't know. That is why I said `might.' "

    He ran a final hand down Ruddy's newly sleek coat. "It will have to be tried," he said decisively. "And the sooner the better. Kettricken must not be left to fret and grieve if there is no cause for it. She might lose the child of it." He sighed and looked at me. "Go get some rest. Plan on visiting the King tonight. Once I see you go in, I will see that there are witnesses to whatever King Shrewd finds out."

    "Burrich," I protested, "there are too many uncertainties. I do not even know that the King will be awake tonight, or able to Skill, or that he will if I ask it. If we do this, Regal, and all else, will know that I am a King's Man in the Skill sense. And..."

    "Sorry, boy." Burrich spoke abruptly, almost callously. "There is more at stake here than your well-being. Not that I do not care about you. But I think you will be safer if Regal thinks you can Skill, and all know Verity is alive, than if all believe Verity is dead and Regal thinks it timely to be rid of you. We must try tonight. Perhaps we shall not succeed. But we must try."

    "I hope you can get some elfbark somewhere," I grumbled to him.

    "Are you developing a fondness for that? Be wary." But then he grinned. "I am sure I can get some."

    I returned the grin, and then was shocked at myself. I didn't believe Verity was dead. That was what I admitted to myself with that grin. I did not believe my king-in-waiting was dead, and I was about to stand toe to toe with Prince Regal and prove it was so. The only way that could have been more satisfying would be if I could do it with an ax in my hands. Yet.

    "Do me one favor?" I asked of Burrich.

    "What?" he asked guardedly.

    "Be very very careful of yourself."

    "Always. See that you do the same."

    I nodded, then stood silent, feeling awkward:

    After a moment Burrich sighed and said, "Out with it. If I happen to see Molly, you'd like me to tell her ... what?"

    I shook my head at myself. "Only that I miss her. What else can I say to her? I've nothing to offer her but that."

    He glanced at me, an odd look. Sympathy, but no false comfort. "I'll let her know," he promised.

    I left the stables feeling that somehow I had grown. I wondered if I would ever stop measuring myself by how Burrich treated me.

    I went directly to the kitchen, intending to get something to eat, then go rest as Burrich had suggested. The watch room was packed with the returning soldiers, telling stories to the ones who had stayed home while devouring stew and bread. I had expected that, and intended to find my own provisions and carry them off to my room. But within the kitchen, everywhere, kettles were bubbling, bread was rising, and meat was turning on spits. Kitchen servants were chopping, stirring, and going to and fro hurriedly.

    "There is a feast tonight?' I asked stupidly.

    Cook Sara turned to face me. "Oh, Fitz, so you're back and alive and in one piece for a change." She smiled as if she had complimented me. "Yes, of course, there's a feast to celebrate the victory at Neatbay. We would not neglect you."

    "With Verity dead, we still sit down to feast?"

    Cook looked at me levelly. "Were Prince Verity here, what would he wish?"

    I sighed. "He would probably say to celebrate the victory. That folk need hope more than mourning."

    "So exactly Prince Regal explained it to me this morning," Cook said with satisfaction. She turned back to rubbing spices into a leg of venison. "We'll mourn him, of course. But you have to understand, Fitz. He left us. Regal is the one who stayed here. He stayed here to look after the King, and mind the coasts as best as he could. Verity is gone, but Regal is still here with us. And Neatbay is not fallen to the Raiders."

    I bit my tongue and waited for the fit to pass. "Neatbay did not fall because Regal stayed here to protect us." I wanted to make certain that Cook was connecting those two events, not merely mentioning them both in the same lecture.

    She nodded as she kept rubbing the meat. Pounded sage, my nose told me. And rosemary. "It's what's been needed all along. Soldiers sent right away. Skilling is fine, but what's the good of knowing what's happening if no one does anything about it?"

    "Verity always sent out the warships."

    "And they always seemed to get there too late." She turned to me, wiping her hands down the front of her apron. "Oh, I know you worshiped him, lad. Our Prince Verity was a goodhearted man, who wore himself to death trying to protect us. I'm not speaking against the dead. I'm only saying that Skilling and chasing down Elderlings are not the way to fight these Red-Ships. What Prince Regal done, sending the soldiers and ships out the minute he heard, that's what was needed all along. Maybe with Prince Regal in charge, we'll survive here."

    "What about King Shrewd?" I asked softly.

    She misunderstood my question. In doing so, she showed me what she really thought. "Oh, he's as good as can be expected. He'll even be down to the feast tonight, at least for a bit. Poor man. He's suffering so much. Poor, poor man."

    Dead man. She as much as said it. King no longer, Shrewd was just a poor, poor man to her. Regal had it. "Do you think our queen will be at the feast?" I asked. "After all, she has just heard of the death of her husband and king."

    "Oh, I think she'll be there." Sara nodded to herself. She turned the leg over with a thud, to begin pricking the other side full of herbs. "I've heard it said she's saying she's with child now." The cook sounded skeptical. "She'll want to announce it tonight."

    "Do you doubt she's with child?" I asked bluntly. Cook was not offended by it.

    "Oh, I don't doubt she's pregnant, if she says she is. It just seems a bit odd, is all, her telling it after word of Verity's death came in instead of before."

    "How's that?"

    "Well, some of us are bound to wonder."

    "Wonder what?" I asked coldly.

    Cook darted a glance at me and I cursed my impatience. Shutting her up was not what I wanted to do. I needed to hear the rumors, all of them.

    "Well ..." She hesitated, but could not deny my listening ears. "What's always wondered, when a woman doesn't conceive, and then when her husband's away, suddenly she announces she's pregnant by him." She glanced about to see who else might be listening. All seemed busy at their work, but I didn't doubt a few ears were tilted our way. "Why now? All of a sudden. And if she knew she was pregnant, what was she thinking of, racing off in the middle of the night, right into battle? That's strange behavior for a Queen carrying the throne's heir."

    "Well"-I tried to make my voice mild-"I suppose when the child is born will show when it was conceived. Those who want to count moons on their fingers may do so then. Besides"-and I leaned in conspiratorially-" I heard that some of her ladies knew of it before she left. Lady Patience, for instance, and her maid Lacey." I would have to make sure that Patience bragged of her early knowledge, and that Lacey noised it about among the servants.

    "Oh. That one." Cook Sara's dismissal quashed my hopes of an easy victory. "Well, not to offend, Fitz, but she can be a bit daft on occasion. Lacey, though, Lacey is solid. But she don't say much, and don't want to listen to what others have to say either."

    "Well"-I smiled and tipped her a wink-"that was where I heard it from. And I heard it well before we left for Neatbay." I leaned in closer. "Ask about. I bet you'll find Queen Kettricken's been drinking raspberry-leaf tea for her morning sickness. You check, and see if I'm right. I'll wager a silver bit I am."

    "A silver bit? Ohe. As if I've such to spare. But I'll ask, Fitz, that I will. And shame on you for not sharing such a rich bit of gossip with me before. And all I tell you!"

    "Well, here's something for you, then. Queen Kettricken's not the only one with child!"

    "Oh? Who else?"

    I smiled. "Can't tell you just yet. But you'll be among the first to know, from what I've heard." I had no idea who might be pregnant, but it was safe to say that someone in the Keep was, or would be, in time to substantiate my rumor. I needed to keep Cook pleased with me if I were to count on her for court talk. She nodded sagely at me, and I winked.

    She finished her venison leg. "Here, Dod, come take this and put it on the meat hooks over the big fire. Highest hooks, I want it cooked, not scorched. Go on with you, now. Kettle? Where's that milk I asked you to fetch?"

    I snagged bread and apples before I left for my room. Plain fare, but welcome to one as hungry as I. I went straight to my room, washed up, ate, and lay down to rest. I might have small chance at the King tonight, but I still wanted to be as alert as possible during the feast. I thought of going to Kettricken to ask her not to mourn Verity just yet. But I knew I would never get past her ladies for a quiet word with her. And what if I were wrong? No. When I could prove Verity was still alive would be soon enough to tell her.

    I awoke later to a tap on my door. I lay still for a moment,. not sure if I had heard anything, then rose to undo my latches and open the door a crack. The Fool stood outside my door. I do not know if I was more surprised that he had knocked instead of slipping the latches, or at the way he was attired. I stood gaping at him. He bowed genteelly, then pushed his way into my room, closing the door behind him. He fastened a couple of latches, then stepped to the center of the room and extended his arms. He turned in a slow circle for me to admire him. "Well?"

    "You don't look like you," I said bluntly.

    "I am not intended to." He tugged his overjerkin straight, then plucked at his sleeves to display better not only the embroidery on them, but the slashes that showed off the rich fabric of the sleeves beneath them. He fluffed his plumed hat, set it once more atop his colorless hair. From deepest indigo to palest azure went the colors, and the Fool's white face, like a peeled egg, peeping out of them. "Fools are no longer in fashion."

    I sat down slowly on my bed. "Regal has dressed you like this," I said faintly.

    "Hardly. He supplied the clothing, of course, but I dressed myself. If Fools are no longer in fashion, consider how lowly would be the valet of a Fool."

    "How about King Shrewd? Is he no longer in fashion?" I asked acidly.

    "It is no longer in fashion to be overly concerned with King Shrewd," he replied. He cut a caper, then stopped, drew himself up with dignity as befitted his new clothes, and took a turn about the room. "I am to sit at the Prince's table tonight, and be full of merriment and wit. Do you think I shall do well at it?"

    "Better far than I," I said sourly. "Care you not at all that Verity is dead?"

    "Care you not at all that the flowers are blooming beneath the summer sun?"

    "Fool, it is winter outside."

    "The one is as true as the other. Believe me." The Fool stood suddenly still. "I have come to ask a favor of you, if you can believe that."

    "The second as easily as the first. What is it?"

    "Do not slay my king with your ambitions for your own."

    I looked at him in horror. "I would never slay my king! How dare you say it!"

    "Oh, I dare much, these days." He put his hands behind him and paced about the room. With his elegant clothes and unaccustomed postures, he frightened me. It was as if another being inhabited his body, one I knew not at all.

    "Not even if the King had killed your mother?"

    A terrible sick feeling rose in me. "What are you trying to tell me?" I whispered.

    The Fool whirled at the pain in my voice. "No. No! You mistake me entirely!" There was sincerity in his voice, and for an instant I could see my friend again. "But," he continued in a softer, almost sly tone, "if you believed the King had killed your mother, your much-cherished, loving, indulgent mother, had killed her and snatched her forever away from you. Do you think you might then kill him?"

    I had been blind for so long that it took me a moment to understand him. I knew Regal believed his mother had been poisoned. I knew it was one source of his hatred for me, and for "Lady Thyme." He believed we had carried out the killing. At the behest of the King. I knew it all to be false. Queen Desire had poisoned herself. Regal's mother had been overly fond of both drink and those herbs that bring surcease from worry. When she `had not been able to rise to the power she believed was her right, she had taken refuge in those pleasures. Shrewd had tried several times to stop her, had even applied to Chade for herbs and potions that would end her cravings. Nothing had worked. Queen Desire had been poisoned, it was true, but it was her own self-indulgent hand that had administered it. I had always known that. And knowing it, I had discounted the hate that would breed in the heart of a coddled son, suddenly bereft of his mother.

    Could Regal kill over such a thing? Of course he could. Would he be willing to bring the Six Duchies to the teetering edge of ruin as an act of vengeance? Why not? He had never cared for the Coastal Duchies. The Inland Duchies, always more loyal to his inland mother, were where his heart was. If Queen Desire had not wed King Shrewd, she would have remained Duchess of Farrow. Sometimes, when in her cups and heady with herbal intoxicants, she would ruthlessly suggest that if she had remained as Duchess, she would have been able to wield more power, enough to persuade Farrow and Tilth to unite under her as queen and shrug off their allegiance to the Six Duchies. Galen, the Skill Master, Queen Desire's own bastard son, had nurtured Regal's hatred along with his own. Had he hated enough to subvert his coterie to Regal's revenge?

    To me it seemed a staggering treason, but I found myself accepting it. He would. Hundreds of folk slain, scores Forged, women raped, children orphaned, entire villages destroyed for the sake of a Princeling's vengeance over an imagined wrong. It staggered me. But it fit. It fit as snug as a coffin lid.

    "I think perhaps the present Duke of Farrow should have a care for his health," I mused.

    "He shares his older sister's fondness for fine wine and intoxicants. Well supplied with these, and careless of all else, I suspect he will live a long life."

    "As perhaps King Shrewd might?" I ventured carefully.

    A spasm of pain twitched across the Fool's face. "I doubt that a long life is left to him," he said quietly. "But what is left might be an easy one, rather than one of bloodshed and violence."

    "You think it will come to that?"

    "Who knows what will swirl up front the bottom of a stirred kettle?" He went suddenly to my door, and set his hand to the latch. "That is what I ask you," he said quietly. "To forgo your twirling, Sir Spoon. To let things settle."

    "I cannot."

    He pressed his forehead to the door, a most un-Fool-like gesture. "Then you shall be the death of kings." Grieved words in a low voice. "You know ... what I am. I have told you. I have told you why I am here. This is one thing of which I am sure. The end of the Farseer line was one of the turning points. Kettricken carries an heir. The line will continue. That is what was needed. Cannot an old man be left to die in peace?"

    "Regal will not let that heir be born," I said bluntly. Even the Fool widened his eyes to hear me speak so plain. "That child will not come to power without a King's hand to shelter under. Shrewd, or Verity. You do not believe Verity is dead. You have as much as said so. Can you let Kettricken endure the torment of believing it is so? Can you let the Six Duchies go down in blood and ruin? What good is an heir to the Farseer throne, if the throne is but a broken chair in a burned-out hall?"

    The Fool's shoulders slumped. "There are a thousand crossroads," he said quietly. "Some clear and bold, some shadows within shadows. Some are nigh onto certainties; it would take a great army or a vast plague to change those paths. Others are shrouded in fog, and I do not know what roads lead out of them, or to where. You fog me, bastard. You multiply the fixtures a thousandfold, just by your existing. Catalyst. From some of those fogs go the blackest, twisted threads of damnation, and from others shining twines of gold. To the depths or the heights, it seems, are your paths. I long for a middle path. I long for a simple death for a master who was kind to a freakish, jeering servant."

    He made no more rebuke than that. He lifted the latches and undid the bolts and left quietly. The rich clothing and careful walk made him appear deformed to me, as his motley and capers never had. I closed the door softly behind him and then stood leaning against it as if I could hold the fixture out.

    I prepared myself most carefully for dinner that evening. When I was finally dressed in Mistress Hasty's latest set of clothes for me, I looked almost as fine as the Fool. I had decided that as yet I would not mourn Verity, nor even give the appearance of mourning. As I descended the stairs it seemed to me that most of the Keep was converging on the Great Hall this evening. Evidently all had been summoned to attend, grand folk and humble.

    I found myself seated at a table with Burrich and Hands and other of the stable folk. It was as humble a spot as I had ever been given since King Shrewd had taken me under his wing, and yet the company was more to my liking than that of the higher tables. For the honored tables of the Great Hall were packed with folk little known to me, the Dukes and visiting nobility of Tilth and Farrow for the most part. There were a scattering of faces I knew, of course. Patience was seated as almost befit her rank, and Lacey was actually seated at a table above me. I saw no sign of Molly anywhere. There were a scattering of folk from Buckkeep Town, most of them the well-to-do, and most of them seated more favorably than I would have expected. The King was ushered in, leaning on the newly elegant Fool, followed by Kettricken.

    Her appearance shocked me. She wore a simple robe of drab brown, and she had cut her hair for mourning. She had left herself less than a hand's width of hair, and bereft of its rich weight, it stuck out about her head like a dandelion gone to seed. Its color seemed to have been cut away with its length, leaving it as pale as the Fool's. So accustomed had I been to seeing the heavy gold braids of her hair that her head now appeared oddly small atop her wide shoulders. Her pale blue eyes were made strange by eyelids reddened by weeping. She did not look like a mourning Queen. Rather she appeared bizarre, a new kind of fool for the court. I could see nothing of my queen, nothing of Kettricken in her garden, nothing of the barefoot warrior dancing with her blade; only a foreign woman, newly alone here. Regal, in contrast, was as lavishly clothed as if to go a-courting, and moved as surely as a hunting cat.

    What I witnessed that evening was as cleverly paced and carefully led as a puppet play. There was old King Shrewd, doddering and thin, nodding off over his dinner, or making vague and smiling conversation to no one in particular. There was the Queen-in-Waiting, unsmiling, barely eating, silent and mourning. Presiding over it all was Regal, the dutiful son seated next to the failing father, and beside him the Fool, magnificently clad and punctuating Regal's conversation with witticisms to make the Prince's conversation more sparkling than it truly was. The rest of the High Table was the Duke and Duchess of Farrow, and the Duke and Duchess of Tilth, and their current favorites among the lesser nobility of those duchies. Beams, Rippon, and Shoaks Duchies were not represented at all.

    Following the meat, two toasts were offered to Regal. The first came from Duke Holder of Farrow. He toasted the Prince lavishly, declaring him the defender of the realm, praising his swift action on behalf of Neatbay, and lauding also his courage in taking the measures necessary for the best interests of the Six Duchies. That made me prick up my ears. But it was all a bit vague, congratulating and praising, but never quite laying out exactly what Regal had decided to do. Had it gone on any longer, it would have been suitable as a eulogy.

    Early into the speech, Kettricken had sat up straighter and looked incredulously at Regal, obviously unable to believe that he would quietly nod and smile to praises not his due. If anyone besides myself noticed the Queen's expression, none commented on it. The second toast, predictably, came from Duke Ram of Tilth. He offered a toast to the memory of King-in-Waiting Verity. This was a eulogy, but a condescending one, speaking of all that Verity had attempted and intended and dreamed of and wished for. His achievements already having been heaped on Regal's plate, there was little left to add. Kettricken grew, if anything, whiter and more pinched about the mouth.

    I believe that when Duke Ram finished, she was on the verge of rising to speak herself. But Regal arose, almost hastily, holding up his newly filled glass. He motioned all to silence, then extended that glass toward the Queen.

    "Too much has been said of me this night, and too little of our most fair Queen-in-Waiting, Kettricken. She has returned home to find herself most sadly bereaved. Yet I do not think my late brother Verity would wish sorrow for his death to overshadow all that is due his lady by her own effort. Despite her condition"-and the knowing smile of Regal's face was perilously close to a sneer-"she deemed it in the best interests of her adopted kingdom to venture forth to confront the Red-Ships herself: Doubtless many Raiders fell to her valiant sword. No one can doubt that our soldiers were inspired by the sight of their queen, determined to do battle on their behalf, regardless of what she risked."

    Two spots of high color began to glow on Kettricken's cheeks. Regal continued, shading his account of Kettricken's deeds with condescension and flattery. The insincerity of his courtier's phrases somehow diminished her deed to something done for show.

    I looked in vain for someone at the High Table to champion her. For me to rise from my common place and pit my voice against Regal's would have seemed almost more mocking. Kettricken, never sure of her place in her husband's court, and now without him to sustain her, seemed to shrink in on herself. Regal's retelling of her exploits made them seem questionable and reckless rather than daring and decisive. I saw her dwindle before herself, and knew she would not speak up for herself now. The meal resumed with a very subdued Queen attending to the addled King Shrewd beside her, grave and silent to the King's vague efforts at conversation.

    But worse was to come. At the end of the meal, Regal once more called for silence. He promised the assembled folk that there would be minstrels and puppeteers to follow the meal, but asked them to endure while he announced but one more thing. After much grave consideration and great consultation, and with great reluctance, he had realized what the attack at Neatbay had justly proven. Buckkeep itself was no longer the safe and secure place it was once. It was certainly no place for anyone of delicate health. And so, a decision had been reached that King Shrewd (and the King lifted up his head and blinked about at the mention of his name) would be journeying inland, to reside in safety at Tradeford on the Vin River in Farrow until his health had improved. Here he paused to lavishly thank Duke Holder of Farrow for making the Tradeford Castle available to the royal family. He added, too, that he was greatly pleased it was so accessible to both the main castles of Farrow and Tilth, for he wished to remain in good contact with these most loyal Dukes, who had so often of late journeyed so far to assist him in these troubled, troubled times. It would please Regal to bring the life of the royal court to the ones who had previously had to travel far to enjoy it. Here he paused to accept their nodded thanks and murmurs of continued support. They subsided in immediate obedience when he next raised his hand.

    He invited, nay, he entreated, he begged the Queen-in-Waiting to join King Shrewd there. She would be more safe, she would find it more comfortable, for Tradeford Castle had been built as a home, not a fortress. It would put the minds of her subjects at rest to know that the coming heir and his mother were well cared for and well away from the dangerous coast. He promised that every effort would be made to make her feel at home. He promised her a merry court would re-form there. Many many of the furnishings and treasures of Buckkeep were to be moved there when the King went, to make the move less upsetting for him. Regal smiled all the while that he relegated his father to a position of elderly idiot and Kettricken to broodmare. He dared to pause to hear her acceptance of her fate.

    "I cannot," she said with great dignity. "Buckkeep is where my lord Verity left me, and before he did so, he commended it to my care. Here I shall stay. This is where my child will be born."

    Regal turned his head, ostensibly to hide a smile from her, but actually to display it better to the assemblage. "Buckkeep shall be well guarded, my lady queen. My own cousin, Lord Bright, heir to Farrow, has expressed an interest in assuming the defense of it. The full militia will be left in place here, for we have no need of them at Tradeford. I doubt that they shall need the assistance of one more woman hampered by her skirts and a burgeoning belly."

    The laughter that erupted shocked me. It was a crude remark, a witticism more worthy of a tavern brawny than a Prince in his own Keep. It reminded me of nothing so much as of Queen Desire when she was at her worst, inflamed with wine and herbs. Yet they laughed, at the High Table, and not a few at the lower tables joined them. Regal's charms and entertainments had served him well. No matter what insult or buffoonery he served up tonight, these fawners would sit and accept it with the meat and wine they gobbled at his table. Kettricken seemed incapable of speech. She actually rose and would have left the table, had not the King reached out a trembling hand. "Please, my dear," he said, and his faltering voice carried all too clearly. "Do not leave me. I wish you at my side."

    "You see, it is the wish of your king," Regal hastily admonished her, and I doubt that even he could fully token the good luck that had led the King to make such a request of her at such a time. Kettricken sank back unwillingly in her seat. Her lower lip trembled and her face flushed. For one terrifying instant I thought she would burst into tears. It would have been the final triumph for Regal, a betrayal of her emotional weakness as a breeding female. Instead, she took a deep breath. She turned to the King and spoke low but audibly as she took his hand. "You are my king, to whom I am sworn. My liege, it shall be as you wish. I shall not leave your side."

    She bowed her head, and Regal nodded affably, and a general outbreak of conversation congratulated itself on her agreement. Regal nattered on a bit longer when the din died down, but he had already achieved his goal. He spoke mostly of the wisdom of his decision, and how Buckkeep would be better able to defend itself without fearing for its monarch. He even had the audacity to suggest that by removing himself and the King and Queen-in-Waiting, he would be making Buckkeep a lesser target for the Raiders, as they would have less to gain by capturing it. It was all a nothing, a winding down for show. Not long after, the King was taken away, carted off back to his chamber, his display duty done. Queen Kettricken excused herself to accompany him. The feast broke down into a general cacophony of entertainments. Kegs of beer were brought out, along with casks of the lesser wines. Various inland minstrels held forth at opposite corners of the Great Hall, while the Prince and his cohorts chose the amusement of a puppet show, a bawdy piece entitled The Seduction of the Innkeeper's Son. I pushed back my plate and looked to Burrich. Our eyes met, and we rose as one.